#niamh.asks
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why is Esteban in Paris??
isn’t the man literally french
#idk?? the food?? the sun?#is it surprising that he’s in paris. does he have beef there or smth#also. why would EYE know what este is doing . or did u knock on the wrong blog’s door#anon tag#niamh.asks
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Your opinion on Pipe ft XNDA
sorry but if you don’t think releasing a song where you talk about eating pussy and singing the words “i’ll show you domination” when you’re seventy points behind in the championship going into summer break and then eventually winning said championship isn’t the epitome of serving cunt then you’re boring
#in my heart of hearts the spirit of james hunt was shining thru lewis during this moment#ask my opinion on ask game#anon tag#niamh.asks
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ok but mob au
1.
“You really didn’t know who I work for?”
When Yuki found out that Pierre’s boss is the Sebastian Vettel, the Lion of Singapore, and the unofficial heir to Schumacher & Co., he had only raised his eyebrows. Pierre took that to mean he had already figured it out.
Yuki blinks at him. “No.”
“But.” Pierre frowns. “Why did you — I always have so many knives on me! Is this not weird to you?” He gestures at his jacket which hangs open, showing four different perfectly sharpened blades tucked into the lining.
Yuki shrugs. “You are French, yes? You like to cut things. Like cheese.”
Pierre mouths wordlessly. Cheese.
“Anyway,” Yuki adds. “You are weird, so. This would not be weird.”
2.
The first time Sebastian meets Lewis, his runners are wet with Michael’s blood and Lewis’s hands are pressing his head into the glass door. His face aches, nose throbbing.
“Can I help you?” he says, or tries to say. It comes out vaguely smushed.
He pushes back a little just to see. Lewis lets him move half an inch before shoving him back.
“Jesus, Hamilton,” Sebastian hears Michael say. His voice cracks roughly. Sebastian nearly cried when the doctor told him Michael survived the surgery, that they got all the bullets out and he was in recovery. He swallows thickly, as the relief makes him all dizzy even now. “I know you got out today but c’mon, let him go. This is Sebastian — I talked about him.”
The hands on Sebastian’s neck disappear and he’s rubbing at his jaw when he turns around. “Ow,” Seabastian tells Michael. His cheeks are pale and his chest is wrapped in white bandages but his eyes are alert and he is grinning.
“Sebastian, this is Lewis Hamilton. Lewis, Sebastian Vettel. Mika says we are all friends here.”
He pats Mika’s ankle that is propped up on the bed beside his hip. Mika’s eyes stay closed, arms folded in his chair, chin on his chest. There are dark bruises under his eyes under now.
“Right. If Mika says so.”
Lewis steps back towards Michael’s bed, grabbing the duffle bag from where it was leaning against the wall. Sebastian looks at his bare arms, the tattoos that go all the way down to his fingers, the rings there. His jeans sit low on his hips. He needs a shave. Sebastian recognises him from his mugshot, even of his hair is longer now and his face is more lined.
They hadn’t had the time to arrange for Michael to share a cell with someone affiliated with them, and when they had got in contact with him, a week later, he had settled in well enough with his cell mate. By Michael standards at least.
Does not talk much, Michael had told Sebastian over the phone. Likes his fucking singing though. Stares at the picture of his dog. Do you think he is lonely?
When Sebastian had brought it up with Mika, the best person for this kind of thing when Corinna is away, Mika had only shrugged, and told him that he doesn’t think it is just Hamilton that is lonely, and that of fucking course anyone who could survive nine weeks in solitary with just Fernando Alonso as company in the next cell over is someone that Michael would find interesting.
Sebastian looks away from the breadth of Lewis’s shoulders in his white tank and pulls a face at Michael’s waggling eyebrows.
3.
“How old do you think I am?” Jenson asks, as Alex adjusts his long-rifle until it sits comfortably against his shoulder, supported by the flat roof they are lying on.
Alex doesn’t answer, because he knows exactly how old Jenson is, and the fact that people continue to tell Jenson to his face that he looks ten years older than his actual age will never stop being funny.
“Ollie, how old do you think I am?” Jenson calls.
“Jen, leave the kid alone,” Alex says. “You could dye your hair.”
“Do I look like a man who would dye his hair solely to stave off questions about his age?”
“Yes,” Alex sweeps the street below them, marking the buildings bracketing the shop they are surveilling. “Ollie, how are you doing over there?”
He can hear him scramble around for a second before a burst of static. “Radio ready for orders, sir.”
Alex grimaces, still not used to that, as Jenson only laughs beside him.
4.
“Michael? We got him.” Eddie leans back against the closed door.
Michael hums, closing his leather notebook. He leaves his fountain pen tucked into the middle so he remembers what month of intakes he was going over.
“Send him in.”
The kid’s hair is long and dirty, falling into his eyes and around his ears. His knees are all busted up under his baggy shorts. His face is drawn and thin, and he is glaring at Michael, jaw clenched.
He goes all pale when he sees who sits in front of him. Seems like he didn’t know whose car it was.
“Jesus,” Michael says. “You’re tiny, how did you reach the pedals?”
This morning, the kid — Sebastian Vettel, Michael had asked around — had hot wired Michael’s car in under two minutes and driven away. Michael had watched from the restaurant’s window, amused and impressed.
Mika had been decidedly less so when Michael told him, ten minutes later, that they were going to have to order a cab.
“I’m not that short!” The glare intensifies. His eyes are kind of freaky, Michael thinks. Very big and bright.
Michael holds out a hand, level with his chest, and squints. He lowers it considerably. Sebastian looks like he wants to bite it.
“Of course not,” Michael tells him soothingly. Eddie gives him a reproachful look. Michael holds back his eyeroll but takes his hand out of reach of Sebastian’s mouth.
“I have a job for you,” Michael says, watching Sebastian’s eyes sharpen. He smiles thinly. “If you’re up for it.”
“A job. For me? What kind of job?” Sebastian tilts his head to the side, making his eyes wide. His curls tumble across his forehead. The whole effect is rather sweet, Michael considers, delighted. This will be interesting.
Mika has been nagging at Michael to stop picking up strays but he thinks he will agree with Michael on this one.
5.
Michael stretches out his back, legs interlocked at the ankles, until something clicks along his spine. He exhales slowly, sinking back into the shitty mattress.
They called for lights out fifteen minutes ago. Lewis is still in the bunk above him. Michael looks at the scratches across the metal rods. He had a good workout today, no interruptions, and his arms are nicely sore.
Seventeen minutes.
Lewis moves in his bed, rolling over to the right and for a moment, Michael thinks he will roll right off the edge, but then he is swinging down, silent. Michael holds himself very still.
"I am not interested in fucking."
"Yeah," Lewis says. "I heard."
Michael swallows. The sharpened edge of Lewis's plastic spoon presses into his throat. Lewis is dense and solidly heavy, knees on either side of his hips, one foot digging into his knee.
Michael has seen him fight. In an enclosed space like this, and unarmed, he isn't sure who would come out the better. His fingers itch with excitement.
"I found the picture you left," Lewis says quietly. The spoon doesn't move an inch. His eyes gleam in the dark like an animal.
"Okay," Michael says, not bothering to pretend not to know what he is talking about.
Lewis was fine this morning. He hummed to himself the entire way to breakfast, and he spotted Michael in the gym without even being asked. It wasn't until after dinner that he went all weird and still in himself.
Lewis presses down, just a little. Michael raises an eyebrow.
"Is he alive?" Lewis asks like he doesn't want to show his hand but is doing so anyway. His mouth trembles at the corners. Michael frowns at him. He has seen Lewis hustle in the yard at card games enough times to know that his poker face is better than this.
"Is he."
Oh. Jesus.
Michael laughs. It is too loud of a sound for where they are. He laughs anyway.
"You have issues," he tells Lewis, who only sends him a cutting look.
"That was supposed to make you feel better! Stop crying and all. You miss him, yes? Thought I could help."
Lewis stares at him. Blinks those animal eyes.
Michael makes a frustrated sound in the back of his mouth. He misses Mika. He never has to talk when Mika is around.
"He is being taken care of in that shelter you put him in. I had my people check. I was being nice! Friendly too!"
"We're friends," Lewis says slowly as if he expects Michael to say no.
"Obviously. You are being ridiculous," Michael says. "You think I would kill a dog? No!" He is a little hurt.
"You are the chief suspect in fifteen open murders," Lewis says, flat.
"Not of dogs!"
Lewis looks at him for a long moment before rolling his eyes. "How are you still alive, man? For real? I thought it was a threat."
He pushes off Michael and pulls himself up onto the top bunk, as silent as he climbed down at the start.
"No one else would see this as a bad thing."
He can hear Lewis roll his eyes.
"Literally every other person here would think you were sending a message. And not a good one."
"I was being nice!"
There is a clang of metal against metal, and their cell bars rattle. "Oi! You two! Shut the fuck up. Save the fighting or fucking for the morning."
"Gross, man," Lewis says, and Michael kicks at the underside of his bunk. "You are gross."
Maybe Mika was right when he said that Lewis might not take his generosity in the way he wanted it, Michael considers. He decides not to tell him. He would be too smug if he did.
He palms the sharpened spoon that Lewis had held to his neck and left on his pillow, beside his cheek. It is small and narrow. Michael presses his thumb against the slice, feeling it. He smiles, and tucks it under his sheet. He had needed a new one.
+1.
Sebastian had been small when Michael met him. All eyes and bony knees and dirty hair.
Then he opened up his mouth and his personality crawled out.
Michael has never looked back.
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idk if i am understanding the prompt of title correctly but i will submit: 1) valewis + "travel song" or 2) dantteri + "people are fragile things"
1.
Lewis hums something quiet and slow on their walk back to the Shatterdome. It reverberates through the Drift and settles around Valtteri’s shoulders.
He catches the edges of a memory spent handing Sebastian the wrong tools on purpose as the blond man swears at him, laughing, German music playing low on the radio behind them.
It took Valtteri a very long while to get used to how easy it is to drift with Lewis.
He always felt like a Titan — even before Nico died and he dragged their Jaeger back to shore alone. Something mythic and unstoppable. There was a certainty to Lewis Hamilton that sometimes felt like the stuff stories are made of.
Valtteri has never done particularly well at the thought of not measuring up. Worse when their pre-Drift potentially was so high.
Lewis feels tired. He always feel tired. His mind is calm and cool like a lake, and Valtteri lets himself sink into it.
2.
"What's it like being in Lewis’s head?"
He signs off on his action report. "Boring, like you said."
"We both know that's a lie. I only said it to get a rise out of him." Daniel drums his heels against the desk, a rattling repeating pattern meant to burrow under the skin. "You forget I've known him before Nico died and he became all Solemn and Serious and Grieving Widow."
Valtteri considers that as he finishes the rest of the paperwork. His eyes ache faintly. "What was he like?"
Daniel takes the pile and sets it aside. "Don't you know?"
"I don't," he says, although he catches glimpses of it on occasion, in the way Lewis moves or how his mouth shapes certain words, the lingering traces of youth, of anger, of secretly believing you would never die. Sometimes, in the middle of a fight, when they are being pushed back, when debris is falling and there is barely any time to think, Lewis’s mouth curls and snarls, sharp and vicious and feral, and Valtteri can feel it in his gut, and he thinks that's you; that's what you've always been.
"And here I thought we'd moved past you lying to me." Daniel drums another beat against the desk, staccato and just off tempo enough to set Valtteri's teeth on edge. "He was a little shit. Still had the same smart mouth — him and Sebastian used to get up to so much trouble. Almost as much as what I’ve heard him and Nico did. He laughed more. All dream — that Lewis was.”
"And then Spain happened," Valtteri says.
"Life happened," Daniel corrects, and Valtteri doesn’t bother hiding his eye roll. "We all have our Spains."
Daniel takes the opportunity to sling his leg over Valtteri's lap, and Valtteri absently rubs his thumb over the knob of Daniel's ankle.
"Fuck off," Valtteri says, but he doesn’t mean it. Hasn’t meant it with Daniel for a while now. Valtteri presses his knuckles into the ball of Daniel's foot, keeping a firm hold on his ankle so he can't jerk away. "Is this going to be a problem for you?"
"Depends on whether you’re going to show this to Lewis or not.”
"He sees everything." He digs his knuckles in harder. "But he doesn’t poke around. I think he was embarrassed to see us kissing the last time we drifted."
"That's Lewis all over," Daniel says fondly. "Will flirt with anyone and anything if he thinks it will give him an advantage but is terrible with genuine feelings."
"Speak from experience?" he says. He doesn’t know what to do with this thing in his chest. He swallows.
"We were too young to be serious." Daniel’s gaze is steady and unflinching, as if Valtteri is a reporter or donor for Daniel to spin around and around and around, every hinge and crack and vulnerability mapped and laid bare for Daniel to do with as he pleased.
He shoves Daniel’s foot off his lap and stands so fast the edges of his vision darken. He needs sleep. He needs his fucking head back.
"Does this bother you?" Valtteri asks, hating himself for it. "Lewis being in my head?"
Daniel doesn't even have the decency to be surprised by the question. Valtteri hates him. "No, not in the way you mean."
"And how do I mean it?"
"You want to know if I'm upset that I will never know you like Lewis knows you."
He flinches. "Are you?"
"No. What you and Lewis have is not something I would ever want or ask for."
"I didn't ask for it. There is a war and they said jump,” he snaps, the fury so close to the surface that he is afraid his ribs will snap and it will come boiling out, and god help anyone caught in its path. "I don't want it."
He will not be able to hide this from Lewis when they drift next. He hasn’t been able to hide it from him in the first place.
Guilt coats the inside of his mouth, thick and sour. He swallows and swallows and swallows.
He tries to breathe.
"Hey," Daniel says, so close that Valtteri jerks back in surprise. "You all right?"
"Fine," he says, coming to the belated, and embarrassed, realization that Daniel has likely been speaking the entire time. "Got distracted. Sorry."
"Did you just apologise? Has Lewis lobotomised you?"
"That's not funny," he snaps, too quick and too sharp to play it off as a joke. He draws another breath, the sound of it rattling in his empty head.
"He hasn't done anything to me. He leaves shit alone, like I said."
"Have you lobotomised him?" Daniel says instead of what Valtteri is expecting, which is asking if Valtteri wants Lewis to do something to him.
"Not yet," he says, which only seems to worry Daniel more.
Slowly, as if Valtteri is a rookie on his first deployment and Daniel doesn’t want to spook him, Daniel drags fingertips up his jaw and over his cheek. His thumb traces the scar over his lip.
Holding himself still and quiet, Valtteri didn't protest when Daniel cups his face or when he touches their heads together, or when he says, soft and revenant, "You're a fucking disaster."
He laughs and kisses Daniel.
"You don't want in my head?" he asks.
"Yes," says Daniel. "You're a private man, Valtteri, and a hard one to read. I never know what you're thinking at any given moment."
"I will not say sorry - if that is what you are looking for."
"I'm not looking for anything," Daniel says, and Valtteri doesn't need a line to his head to read the sincerity there. "I won't take your privacy from you. When you do decide to share something with me, even if it's just your opinion on my life choices, it's because you chose to trust me, and I wouldn't give that up, not for anything."
"If it would end this war?"
He means it as a joke, but Daniel, who acts as if he takes nothing seriously, does not take it as one.
"No," he says, as if he had put great thought into it, "not even if it meant that."
"Shut up."
"Yes, sir," Daniel grins, pressing a kiss to Valtteri's neck before undoing his own pants zipper and, with a frankly ridiculous shimmy and hop, kicks them off. He isn't wearing underwear.
"Stop trying to distract me."
"I know you're lying because you once told me, and I quote, you liked me better when I'm naked."
"I would have to be a dick to say that."
3.
Lewis stays smiling as the reporter asks his question, smug as ten fucking cats.
Valtteri’s stare sits heavy on his face. The reporter swallows thickly, eyes darting away.
“Well?” He asks again. “Do you think the fact that you yourself have said that you can be too stubborn led to the rift in your and Nico’s partnership, and therefore his death?”
Lewis’s eyes are distant.
At least, they didn’t ask about Michael again, Valtteri thinks. Or Fernando.
“Can I take this one?” Valtteri asks. The reporter frowns at him but Valtteri is looking at Lewis.
Lewis blinks at him. His eyelashes are ridiculously long. They’ve just come from drifting — having taken out a three alarm Kaiju, worn and tired and spilling over into each other’s heads.
Valtteri loathes sharing his mind with another person more than nearly everything else in the world, for all that he tries to keep that boxed away from Lewis. It is times like this that he almost doesn’t mind it.
Lewis raises an eyebrow at him, quietly amused.
Never let them see, Valtteri remembers his dad telling him, hands bruise tight on his shoulders — except — no. Not his dad. They are Anthony’s hands, and that’s the grey yellow tint that Lewis has on all his childhood memories.
Valtteri turns to the reporter. His dark hair is long around his ears and he is looking at Valtteri with thinly veiled contempt.
“Go fuck yourself,” Valtteri tells him calmly, and Lewis laughs, startled.
Valtteri feels his surprise skittering down his spine, followed quickly with smothered childlike delight.
Lewis’s face is soft for hours after. His mind even more so. He smiles to himself throughout the twenty-five minute dressing down General Wolff gives Valtteri.
4.
"What's your favourite kind of ice cream?" Lewis asks as they make their way to the gym. It is stupid early and the corridors are empty and dark.
Lewis does this sometimes. Asking Valtteri questions about himself that he could just pick out of Valtteri's head as he wishes. It is more endearing than Valtteri likes.
He stomaches it only because he thinks Lewis is doing it more for his sake than for Valtteri's. Lewis, Valtteri had been pleased to find out, is only selfless up until a point. A relatively small one, all things considered.
"Mint," Valtteri answers.
Lewis pulls a face at him as he pushes the gym door open. There are deep circles under his eyes, like someone dug in their thumbs and pressed. "That's so gross, man. Why don't you just eat toothpaste?"
Valtteri laughs before realising it. It's loud in the quietly still room. The sound echoes off the bare metal walls.
"My second favourite is pistachio," he says, and Lewis sticks his tongue out in disgust, obvious even in the dark as he throws him a bamboo stick.
5.
Valtteri clears his throat. "Did you tamper with the sim, Tsunoda?"
"Of course not, sir," Tsunoda says, offended. "That would be -"
"Against regulations?" Gasly says.
"- cheating. I don't cheat."
When Tsunoda tries to turn that offended look on Gasly, Gasly just tugs Tsunoda back where he wants him, which is close enough for Gasly to prop his chin on the top of Tsunoda’s head. Tsunoda, like with most things where Gasly is concerned, bears it with minimal complaint.
An ache opens under Valtteri’s breastbone. It has been a little over two weeks since he has last seen Lewis. Longer since they’ve drifted. They had been taken out of the rotation after Valtteri got injured, and sent across the world on Charm-The-Rich-Into-Giving-Their-Money-Even-Though-Don’t-They-Know-The-World-Is-Fucked-And-They’re-Living-In-It-Too missions and rented out to different Shatterdomes for pep talks and training seminars.
It has been the longest they’ve been apart since they were first paired up. Maybe Valtteri shouldn’t be surprised to be missing him but he is.
He hasn’t had someone to miss in a long time.
He’s even more surprised to find himself missing Daniel.
+1.
In the end, it’s just Lewis and Valtteri and the big wide yawn of the bottom of the sea.
“You are living,” Lewis tells him, mouth grim, and Valtteri tells him to fuck off and to stop telling him what to do.
Lewis laughs, which is as partly what Valtteri was going for, and doesn’t say it again, which is the other thing Valtteri was aiming for.
Valtteri wakes up coughing with Lewis beating on his chest. “Ow,” he says. He thinks Lewis might’ve broken a rib.
“I told you you’d live, man,” Lewis tells him, hands wet and cold on his cheeks, because he’s an asshole.
“I hate you,” Valtteri says, throat sore with sea water. He stares up at the cloudless sky. He can faintly hear the thrum of a MEDEVAC-HELO in the distance.
“Uhuh,” Lewis says, and he’s grinning. Even drenched and bleeding and backlit by the sun, he is beautiful. It’s fucked up, Valtteri decides.
“My ribs are sore,” Valtteri tells him.
“I told you to get out before I blew the bomb,” Lewis replies, unsympathetic. His fingers are gentle in Valtteri’s hair, and he drags his body behind Valtteri’s so they’re further in the ejection pod, propped up against his back, weight off his ribs.
Sebastian looks decades older when they step onto the tarmac of the Shatterdome, half stumbling out of the helicopter. Lewis walks towards him. His eyes are wet. It hits Valtteri in the stomach like a gunshot. "Hey."
Sebastian takes a step forward too. His next word is spoken so softly that Valtteri can only read his lips.
"Yeah?"
Lewis just shakes his head slightly and makes a sound that might be a laugh. “I really did want to make that promise to you.”
His shoulders shrug like he wants to hold out his arms.
And then Sebastian is running towards him, colliding into his chest and throwing his arms around his neck and burying his face against his shoulder. Lewis wraps one arm around his back and presses the other hand to the back of his head.
Lewis is crying into his hair and Sebastian’s crying, too, weeping against him with such force that Valtteri would think his heart was breaking if he didn't know the opposite to be true.
He feels a hand slide into his and he squeezes it tightly. Daniel squeezes back and looks at him with a watery smile. His face is a little blurry and it's only then that Valtteri realises he has tears in his eyes too.
“Lewis broke my ribs,” Valtteri tells him, and then kisses Daniel’s laugh off his mouth.
#these were perfect thank u! kinda combined the two for u . sorta#pacific rim au#valewis#dantteri#sewis#lo tag#little fics#niamh.asks
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can we get sum established relationship sewis please
It’s Lewis who asks first.
He’s in the middle of washing up, sleeves pushed to his elbows, hands tucked into reusable gloves. The radio is turned down low, the Beatles humming about Jude in the background. It is a Wednesday evening and there is nothing to do but clean and watch the sun set. Lewis might see if Sebastian will let him eat him out later.
Sebastian made a vegan lasagne for dinner and he's sitting at the table, chin propped up on a fist, writing notes in his little red recipe book. He is muttering quietly to himself, tapping his cheek with the horribly bitten end of his pencil. There are different coloured tabs sticking out at the sides.
It’s the second new dish he's made this week and whenever Sebastian cooks, Lewis washes. His curls are golden under the setting sun, face shadowed, they should probably turn on one of the lamps, and Lewis loves him.
“Marry me?” Lewis asks.
Sebastian hums. “Ah, what?”
Lewis smiles, turning to lean back against the counter, slipping his gloves off. “Marry me.”
It slipped out the first time; so easy and casual he didn't even think about it. This time it is more solid. This time he can hold it in his hands.
Sebastian pauses, pencil stilling. “What?”
Lewis keeps smiling.
“Shut up,” Sebastian says, eyes growing wide, mouth a little slack. He looks furious. “No! Shut up, no. No, no!”
Lewis exhales quickly, laughing. “Sorry, can you repeat that? I don’t think I heard you say no the first time?”
Sebastian throws his pencil at him. It lands in the suds with a plonk! His chair falls out from under him as he jumps to his feet, banging his knee against the table. Lewis winces, opening his mouth.
“No! Don’t say anything,” Sebastian hisses, finger pointing at Lewis. “You’re not allowed to speak.”
Lewis raises his eyebrows. Sebastian looks away, pulling at his hair. He’s trying not to smile. It’s not very successful.
Lewis feels a little cracked open, spilling out at the edges. There’s a tightening low in his gut, a pull and then buzzing filling his stomach. Sebastian’s palms are open and raised at the ceiling as he breathes. “I had a plan,” he says, and Lewis swallows back a laugh.
“Yeah?”
Sebastian makes a low noise in the back of his throat. His mouth turns down, tugging his whole face with it. He could be twenty three again and back in that RedBull suit. “I didn't say you could speak.”
Lewis mimes zipping his mouth shut. He wipes his hands on his jeans and starts walking over to Sebastian.
“I had a plan.” Sebastian still isn't looking at him. “You ruined it. There was going to be lights and dinner and music and Roscoe was going to come into the room carrying it around his neck. We discussed this, you know. You’re being very inconsiderate.”
Lewis frowns. “You never mentioned this to me.”
Sebastian rolls his eyes, looking at him finally. “Not me and you,” he says, delighted, unable to help himself. “Me and Roscoe. I planned it out with him. He had a lot to say, of course, being your kid. Couldn’t shut him up.”
“Oh,” Lewis says, ignoring the hypocrisy. “Oh.”
His hands curve around Sebastian’s hips like they always do. thumb sneaking under his flannel shirt. His skin is room warm and soft. He presses his thumbs into the flesh there, revelling in the give of muscle and fat. “I could take it back if you like. So you can do it again.”
Sebastian’s face twists comically, a half grimace, half smile kind of thing. Ridiculous, Lewis thinks, and can't help but press a kiss into the corner of his mouth where it's stubbornly turned up slightly despite Sebastian’s best efforts.
Sebastian’s hands are heavy in his hair and Lewis leans into him. Sebastian shifts his feet, settling his weight in the ground. Lewis tucks his face into Seb’s neck for a moment. breathing him in. He’s started using Lewis’s soap and it mixes well with his own deodorant and the two in one he uses because it’s efficient, Lewis, stop touching my stuff.
“No. You’ve ruined it now.”
Lewis hums. “Well, you're the one who said no, so if we’re going to talk about who ruined whose proposal…”
Sebastian pulls on his hair until Lewis is laughing in his face.
“You’re the worst,” Sebastian says.
“So are you.” Lewis grins. “We should probably get married then. Save the rest of the world from our awfulness.”
Sebastian’s eyes do that melting thing that they do when Lewis manages to say something he finds particularly wonderful or dirty and kisses him quiet, one hand in his hair, the other falling to his waist. His palm covers Lewis’s hand, thumb pressing into his ring finger.
When Sebastian asks Lewis, weeks later, dong the whole thing he said he’d do, and Lewis looks at him, the grey on his temples highlighted by the candles, the dinner laid out perfectly — vegan lasagne — and Roscoe, who is freshly washed and carrying a glinting ring that Lewis has seen in photos at Sebastian’s parents’ house on a purple pillow tied around his back, and says, “No,” Sebastian throws a spoon at him.
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Gewis + ‘just trust me’
When George is seven and three quarters, he learns off all his times tables up to ten and gets his dad to quiz him at the dinner table. His mum has made them cottage pie with leftover mince from the day before. He is allowed one glass of dilute.
He gets all his sums right — his dad grinning at him as he sits up straighter, saying them faster and faster — apart from seven times seven.
(His dad still messes up his hair and tells him that he’s going to smoke that prick kid with the hair, Billy what’s his face, tomorrow and his mum rolls her eyes, peeling his sister’s potato skin off and mashing it up.)
—
When George is ten, he and his sister stay up late on Halloween and eat nearly all their sweets and watch Coraline. They swap sour worms for jammy dodgers, and suck on gobstoppers.
Their fingers smell of oranges and chocolate in the morning and George’s stomach aches for hours.
(He hates Coraline. His sister loves it, laughing at all the scenes where his heart jumps into his mouth. They watch it for five more Halloweens.)
—
When George is twelve, he has his first kiss. It’s quick and dry and kind of sore — more of a bumping of teeth together than anything else. The second time is not much nicer, if a little wetter.
He isn’t sure if kissing is for him. That’s okay, though, she doesn’t seem that into it either. The sleeve of his school jumper, where he’s always trying not to pull on the threads and failing, gets caught on her earring and it nearly comes right off.
(He is sixteen when he first kisses a boy. He’s two years older, in the class above him, and tastes of cigarettes and energy drinks and his hands are hot on George’s cheeks. He enjoys this one a lot more.)
—
When George is thirteen, the Kaiju come and flatten half of Greece.
(This is when he first hears of General Lauda and Commander Hunt and the Jaeger Program.)
—
When George is seventeen, two Kaiju break through the half built London Wall and he drags his sister all the way deep into the English countryside to stay with their aunt. He doesn’t see his mum again.
(His dad presses his face into George’s hair, voice cracking, and tells him to be good, to stay safe, that he loves him, that he is going away to make sure that the next Wall stays up. He asks him what is seven times seven and wraps his coat around George when he starts to cry.)
—
When George is twenty, he meets Alex Albon, who is tall and always smiling and knocks George flat on his back in basic training. He moves over on the bench, later on during lunch in the mess hall, jerking his chin at the empty seat beside him, spoon in his mouth. George sits down beside him.
(It’s one of the few things that George never comes to regret.)
—
When George is twenty-two, there is a four Kaiju alarm and the entirety of Western Europe duck behind their walls. Michael and Mika’s Flying Rainmaster is retired after, her pilots lost to the sea, and Webber refuses to ever get into a Jaeger again after losing Alonso.
Commander Hamilton looks tired on the tv screen, face thin, uniform buttoned up to his throat. He moves carefully now when the cameras catch him, as if he’s favouring his left side. Rosberg’s body was not recovered.
(Doctor Button punches out a reporter who tries to sneak into Hamilton’s room, Alex tells him later.)
—
When George is twenty-five, he and Alex get accepted into the Jaeger Program, and score a drift compatibility rating of eighty nine percent on their first run.
What, Alex says, trying to trip George up as they climb out of the CONNPOD, like it’s hard? George elbows him away, and Commander Vettel looks amused, jotting something down in the little notebook he always carries around.
Lewis is always trying to get me to watch that movie, Vettel says. And then continues as if that isn’t life shattering news to drop at twelve in the morning on a Tuesday in May: Get in, bitches, time to go training.
You know, Alex laughs in George’s ear, arm bony around his shoulders. I am starting to get your old man boner.
George shoves him off, cheeks hot to his frustration. It is not an ‘old man boner’. What the fuck.
Alex gives him a deeply unimpressed look. George comes very close to regretting him. George, mate, kid, you do know that your boner being just for Hamilton is, like, way more embarrassing than just having one for old guys in general.
(George steals all his fluffy socks, even the really nice expensive ones.)
—
When George is twenty-five, he watches Bottas and Hamilton spar each other with wooden sticks.
He watches them circle each other, defence flowing into offence and back out again, footwork like a dance, one step forward for every one step back. He wants like nothing before in his life.
(It sticks to the back of his throat and stays there for a very long time.)
—
Who is Charlie, George thinks, fingers feeling all tingly and weird as he remembers a man with messy hair and strange pants laughing at something he says. Something Alex says.
Charles, George remembers, seperate from Alex. He works for Bottas; one of his nurses. He reset George's right shoulder a few weeks after it had dislocated. Again.
And then, because Alex is terrible and deserves it, George asks it out loud. "Who is Charlie?"
Their comm crackles. "Can you repeat the question, Ranger? We didn't catch that." Bono sounds amused.
George laughs, the drift between them shivering with it, as Alex scrambles to answer, ears red.
—
When George is twenty-five, his sister, aged twenty two, graduates from college with an engineering degree and heads right to the French Wall to work. George isn’t able to go to the ceremony. He also isn’t able to convince her that working in the safety of a Shatterdome would be more worth her while. He calls her and they both pretend like they aren’t crying.
Hamilton finds him later that night, head slumped onto the cold metal counter of the kitchen island. His cup of camomile tea is cold in front of him. His mum used to drink it.
George watches his hands as he takes the lids off of tubes of ice cream, scooping out spoonfuls into two bowls. He wonders if his tattoos feel any different than his unmarked skin and feel silly with it.
Hamilton tells him about his brother, Nic, and learning to be a Ranger with Rosberg in the bunk below him, Bottas the one below that, and Alonso in the bunk above, Button across the room with Vettel under him.
“Probably a miracle this place is still standing,” Hamilton remarks, dry. His face is terribly soft. He looks like he’s been through the wash one too many times.
George must make a face when Hamilton finishes with the chocolate sauce and shakes out salt into his palm.
“Listen,” he starts, already grinning. It transforms him, his whole body moving with it. “Just got trust me, man. Give it a go, okay?”
“Is that an order, sir?” George asks just to be annoying. Hamilton only rolls his eyes, flicking the last bits of salt at him.
It’s delicious, even with the salt, or maybe, perhaps, because of it. George ignores the smugness radiating off of Hamilton.
He tells him instead of his dad buying books upon books of sudoku because his mum likes to do them while they watched nature documentaries. He talks about how his sister’s pockets had to be checked before she came inside every evening, for any creepy crawlies that she decided needed a warm home for the night. The story about when Alex and him got lost in Tokyo, each missing a shoe, sends the older man into giggles.
(This is the moment that Commander Hamilton becomes Lewis, ice cream in the corner of his mouth, eyes tired.)
—
Seven times seven is sixty three.
—
His and Alex's Jaeger is an old Mark Three one, still half powered by a nuclear reactor. She’s clunky and big and they fight with a massive long-staff, crackling with electricity at the end. George loves her.
Lando takes a bit of getting used to. George wishes he’d stop calling their Jaeger his.
“Veteran,” Lando says one night, feet dangling off the platform edge. George leans back on his elbows to look at him around Alex, who only hums, arms folded over the railing.
It’s late. There is only the skeleton crew working in the Shatterdome’s garage tonight. They’ve already made their way through a bottle of Yuki’s toilet paint cleaner masquerading as alcohol.
Their chief mechanic shrugs on shoulder and turns to look at them, one leg pulling up to his chest bend at the knee. His mouth does something awkward, but most of what Lando does is awkward so George doesn’t really take notice of it. He finds it rather comforting actually.
“Because they’re always going on about how young you guys are. The Rookies and whatever. And, like, fuck,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I get so much shit for my age here too. Be ironic and all that.”
“Veteran,” George says, trying it out. He likes how it fits in his mouth.
“Probably better than Geriatric Fuck,” Alex admits, and they’re all silent for a moment before cracking up.
—
Whenever they drift, Alex likes to lightly trail his fingers through George’s want for Lewis. He runs his knuckles over the backs of longing and warmth and terror and relief and lust and that sweet aching joy that sits in George’s chest when he makes Lewis laugh.
He rarely says anything. Just stands there as George clears his mind, humming softly. He told George once that it’s one of the few parts of George’s mind that is quiet.
“You think too much,” Alex likes to remind him, which George thinks is a bit unfair because Alex once woke him up at three in the morning when he nearly fell out of his bed in excitement, having finally solved Sebastian’s puzzle after hours of staring at the ceiling.
“You think too little,” George replies instead and the shape of Alex’s smile curls around him in the drift as they move as one.
—
Lewis likes to read.
Lewis specifically likes to read fiction. Romance if he can get his hands on, and he loves fantasy or anything sci-fi.
“I’m a bit weird about space,” he says, smiling sheepishly. It is only slightly less devastating than Lewis’s smiles generally are.
I’m a bit weird about you, George thinks. “Space is cool,” he says, and wants to die.
“Yeah,” Lewis says, slow and amused. “So cool.”
They’re sitting down at one of the corner table in the mess hall. George looks at the stupid spoon they gave out with his potato and leak soup in despair.
“I have a book I think you’ll like,” he tries.
Lewis, because he is made to make George feel insane with everything he does, honest to god, perks up. “Yeah?”
George nods, blowing at his soup like a twat. Somewhere Alex is laughing and doesn’t know why. It’s so hot though. He hates when he burns his mouth.
“About bounty hunters in space. There’s pirates too. I’ve written in the margins though, just rubbish really, but you’re welcome to borrow it, if you want?”
Lewis grins at him. “I want.”
Holy cow.
“Can I write my own thoughts in it too? I can use a pencil if you want.”
George thinks he might give Lewis his firstborn if he asked.
“Yeah, sure,” he says casually.
—
George finds himself scribbling arguments to counter Lewis’s comments across dozens of books. Some of them are his. Some of them are Lewis’s.
Lewis is sharp and funny and George disagrees with half the things he says but the other half come a such a wildly different angle to how he took the material that he has to sit there and piece through it.
He gets ink on his fingertips as he traces some of Lewis’s words, laughing quietly to himself.
“Normal people send nudes,” Alex murmurs sleepily on the bed across the room from him. George lifts his head, pulling a pillow from behind him to chuck it over at him.
—
When George is twenty seven, he starts to think that maybe Lewis might —
That he might look at George too and —
That Lewis might maybe too.
(When Alex catches this in the drift, he laughs so hard he ends up disconnecting completely. General Susie Wolff is not that impressed.)
-
Valtteri Bottas is in Italy when the Kaiju attacks. Lewis Hamilton is not. He stayed behind in the Tokyo Shatterdome to welcome in the new cadets.
George has never seen Lewis scared before. He decides he doesn't like it.
"We'll get him," he tells Lewis, wasting precious seconds to stand there in front of him, in his piloting suit, because he couldn't just walk past a Lewis who looks as lost as he does. "We'll get him," George says again, even though the very first thing they tell you is to never ever make promises.
I'll get you your Alex, George thinks, and they have never drifted together before, and never will, but he thinks Lewis understands him anyway. He nods at him and sets his shoulders, broad and unfaltering. George sees, not for the first time, how he is the only person to ever successfully pilot a Jaeger on their own.
"See that you do, Ranger Georgie."
George groans, walking away backward. He's going to kill Lando one of these days. Lewis smiles, eyes still tight at the corners, and George can't help but say, "Just trust me."
When George is strapping in minutes later, Alex a comforting noise beside him, he thinks of how Lewis's face went all slack and blank for a moment before he looked away, jaw tight. I do, Lewis had said then, quiet, and it had sounded like something else.
Seven times seven is sixty three, George reminds himself like he always does before drifting, clearing his head until there's nothing but quiet.
#i hope u got some sleep a promise is a promise this is how much i love u. all of it and all of it and all of it#gewis#little fics#mark tag#niamh.asks
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🎤 Telepathy au unless you’ve forgotten about it, then Pacific rim au
1.
George is really nervous about the whole becoming teammates and connecting their minds together. If only Senna and Prost were able to keep their crap together for one bloody day.
He’s being cool about it though. Proper suave. No one can tell. Probably. Maybe.
“Mate, can you stop your knee for, like, one minute, yeah? It keeps shaking the table.”
George does not stop his knee. It stays bouncing. It is not shaking the table.
Alex rolls his eyes at him. “It’s going to be fine.”
“Shut up,” George tells him because he has yet to learn how to tell Alex Albon to go away. And nothing Alex says here will help.
His foray as a teammate in Formula One does not inspire any feelings of relaxation in George. Having Max Verstappen in his head might possibly be the worst thing George has ever heard of in his life.
2.
It is somewhat comical that one of the things that makes George feel good about the bond in his head is bloody Nico Rosberg.
It is just — Lewis is so. So.
Lewis is so quiet. And not only as he moves around in the world, physically like. That, George is used to. That, he understands. Has seen before.
But he is so quiet and silent and not fucking there in George’s head, he could have died and George isn’t sure if he would’ve even noticed.
That, possibly, might be an exaggeration. There is a sea in George’s head, and it is still and calm and deep and, the water looks so warm, and it scares George to bits. He wonders if Lewis knows he is the sea.
Valtteri is so in tune with Lewis, even now. Yuki likes to watch them, pointing out when one unthinkingly kicks someone out of the seat next to them right before the other arrives, or when they turn, not seeing yet but knowing who it is that taps their shoulder. George thinks he does it to rile Pierre up. George wishes he would stop. Or at least, do it where George cannot hear.
George has not asked Valtteri what having Lewis in his head was like. If he was quiet for him too. He thinks he would rather chew off his own foot.
And then, Lewis talks with Nico Rosberg. In public. It doesn’t even last five minutes. Rosberg is lit up from within, blond and plastic and smug. The internet breaks.
The sea stays still and calm and deep. Lewis is quiet. It no longer looks warm.
George is cold to his toes.
Lewis takes one look at him when he is back in the garage, all bundled up in a huge coat and shivering, and frowns deeply. Bono hovers at his shoulder.
There is a twist to Lewis’s mouth that George does not recognise.
“Here, man,” Lewis says after he pops back up from wherever he disappeared to. Not that, you know, George is tracking him or anything. “Drink.”
The mug he pushes into George’s hands is hot to the touch and steaming. He breathes it in.
“Thanks, mate.”
Mouth twisting, Lewis says, “Yeah, yeah, well, like. Yeah. Least I could do, right? Sorry. About that.”
And he’s walking away then, shoulders broad, steps light. Lewis is never small, but there is a strange little misery slope to his neck. George swallows. His finger itch with warmth, tingling.
3.
“What’s he like?” Sebastian asks, leaning against the railing beside him. He waggles his eyebrows and taps at his forehead like Lewis didn’t understand what he was asking. He looks ridiculous.
Bet he drives you crazy, Valtteri had said, weeks earlier. He had been smiling. He was letting his hair grow out, freshly tan. He had looked good.
Lewis had ignored him and turned away to talk to Guanyu, Valtteri laughing. Guanyu had perked up at the mention of fashion, content to not get involved in whatever Lewis and Valtteri were going on about.
Lewis looks around. The camera and microphone is down at the other end of the parade.
“Skittish,” Lewis tells him quietly. He leans forward, elbows on the metal railing. It is cool and slick with the mornings rain. “Spooks easy.”
“Lewis.” Sebastian is using his Serious Voice with his Serious Face. Lewis squints at him suspiciously. “You do know that he is a person, right? Not a horse. Or a dog.”
Lewis rolls his eyes. “Funny.”
Sebastian grins at him, bright. His hair is pushed back by a headband, curls loose. “I try.”
“Not hard enough,” Lewis mutters, and Sebastian ignores him, chattering away about the recent Fernando-and-Jenson drama.
4.
George tries very hard to keep any Valtteri Bottas thoughts locked away around Lewis.
None of Lewis’s friends dislike Valtteri. At least, not openly. Not where George can see.
This feels important.
Sebastian — is easier. Even with the depth of history that he and Lewis and the whole world only ever hint at.
5.
George shows up with a slight black eye one race weekend. It is not a sex injury.
None of the reporters actually ask that question, though they get close, eyes smirking. Lando, unfortunately but not surprisingly, has no similar inclinations to keep the joke to himself.
“Mate,” he calls out when he walks into the driver’s briefing. “You know you’re doing it wrong if she kicks you in the face, yeah?”
George flushes bright red. His mouth opens but nothing comes out.
Normally, he can deal with Lando. Normally, he even enjoys. But he didn’t prepare himself this time and the room is full with drivers and Lewis is looking at him, face unreadable, and Valtteri’s eyebrow is raised and, and, and.
“Speaking from experience?” Alex asks Lando, cool as anything. He is leaning back in the chair beside George.
There is not a ripple in the sea. It could be a windless day.
Lando laughs, flipping him off, and drops down in the seat next to Daniel.
It is not a sex injury. But it does involve Lily and Alex, and Lily throwing the dildo with the number 44 written messily across it in Sharpie at Alex after George opened his birthday present and, promptly, swore. George cannot say this, for obvious reasons, the least of them being he cannot ever ever say anywhere Lewis might hear that Alex have him a sex toy and made it Lewis-personified.
Furthermore, George has a sneaky feeling that telling people Lily and Alex were involved with whatever happened would just make the rumours worse.
Lewis sits down across the room, next to Yuki and Pierre. He catches George’s eye, the opposite one to George’s injury, and winks slowly.
George looks quickly away, grinning. His neck is terribly warm.
#fighting my brain and writing u this as an early birthday present. i love you.#this was written on a bus at 7am im sorry#mark tag#george/lewis#little fics#five head cannons#more like five moments tho ig lol#niamh.asks
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If we’re picking sides in the merc civil war I’m picking Lewis he’s got Bono and Zendaya and that’s enough for me.
lads pls. the merc civil war…..they raced bitchily and messily. had a little nudge with their cars. delayed a moment or two. and gave out over the radio for like five seconds. this is NOTHING!!!! i will only accept there is a war when one of them starts hogging the toilet that they Know the other one likes going to 😠😠😠
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Ron Dennis got knighted last night. I don’t know why but I feel like this is info you’d want to know
ron dennis: single handedly creates two teammate pairings that irrevocably change the sport and steals plans off ferrari and puts himself in a position where he is blackmailed by one of his own drivers to give him a car that Does Not Exist and then his team gets disqualified from the world championship
england: imma knight him he’s funky
#does this mean king charles looks at him and goes oh my poor meow meow war criminal#mark tag#niamh.asks
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what did Sebastian Vettel say to Lewis to get him to consider Ferrari?? In his walls
oh this is an easy question. he literally just said i don’t think you could handle a ferrari car. and lewis went. bet?
#that or they’re like. reallllllly into roleplay and they’re taking it to a whole other level rn#anon tag#niamh.asks
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what if lewis gets to drive one of michael's cars
suddenly i am so okay with this decision this is why you are my favourite forza ferrari babes
#i think my brain would actually break i don’t think u understand#it would fix smth in five year old niamh to see lewis in the f2004 im not even joking#lourdes tag#niamh.asks
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Hi! I don't know if you're still taking prompts but how about ferwis + "I'd do anything for you"
jenson: k!!!!!! lets wurkshop this!! wot did u say 2 him
mark: I love a good workshop. 💪🧠👷♂️
fernando reacted to chat with an eyeroll emoji
fernando: i did what YOU said. i told him how i felt
jenson: uhuh
jenson: n like. wot were ur exact words
mark: It’s important to be precise here, Nando. 👌👀
fernando: FINE
fernando: i don’t know. that i liked his bum?? and he had pretty eyes and that he was annoying and should retire but i like how it’s just the two of us now and that i’d do anything for him??
mark: And he LAUGHED at that? 🤨😔🤔 Mate. That’s so cold. 🥶 Are you sure? Lewis seems kinder than that. 🙏
jenson: stoppppp im peeinh i cant handle ur man feelings boner on top of this mark stfu
jenson: fernando
jenson: fur nan doe
jenson: myman
jenson: moi mate
jenson: my mistress
jenson: u didNOTtell him ud doanything 4 him r u fr??????
fernando: what.
fernando: you told me to TELL HIM HOW I FELT THIS IS WHAT I AM FEELING BITCH
jenson: I DIDNT TELLU2 LIETHO??????
jenson: lyke
jenson: wdym ud do anything 4 him there r licheral WIKIPEDIA !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! pages just abut u sabotagging him n fuckinfhimover!!!!!
jenson: sum. ppl say u were. worst teammates than prosenna
jenson: PROSENNA FERNANDO . . PRO FUCKINH SENNA
mark: Hate is not the opposite of love, Jenson.
jenson: thnak u
fernando: about to commit homicide
jenson: fairyl sure its called homOcide if ur kiling lewis
jenson: bc hes gay
fernando: i am KILLING YOU
mark: But isn’t Jenson gay too? 🙏🤔
jenson: um excause moi y wud i limit myself lyke that
fernando: reading your texts makes me feel illiterate
#this might be one of the stupidest things i’ve ever written ur welcome#ferwis#text fic#little fics#anon tag#niamh.asks
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i can’t believe i’m going to have to support ferrari “everyone’s a ferrari fan” i was not. i did not care. and now… that’s my team forza ferrari lol
skill issue. michael schumacher is one of my two favourite drivers and i have adored niki lauda all my life and i love seb and i have never ever been a ferrari fan. this isn’t going to change anything
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Its all about Michael Schumacher somehow
niki lauda convinces two time wdc michael schumacher to join ferrari in the year 1996 of our lord and christ james hunt bc he’s like hey the car is shit do u want to be a fucking legend and fix it and look so cool and smart and sexy. and michael said did i try to kill damon hill? is the pope catholic? and went on to win five wdcs with them. cue cut jump scene to one time wdc lewis hamilton getting the exact same talk from niki and answering the same way. he takes over for michael in mercedes and wins six wdcs. successfully blocking ferrari from winning anymore wdcs with sebastian vettel who is the self proclaimed number one schumi fan. in the middle of this lewis allegedly turns down ferrari bc they won’t let him bring bono with him. bono who used to be michael’s race engineer once upon a time. michael’s son is now the reserve driver for mercedes and lewis. who has surpassed michael in wins and poles and equaled him in championships. might go to ferrari and beat him there too
#everything is about michael schumacher. except michael schumacher. who is about lewis hamilton#thank u for coming to my ted talk#niamh.asks
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gonna be boring and ask for sewis if you havent done it before 🙏🏼
this is a love story. like in every shape and form. whether it’s romantic or platonic. real or rpf. this is a love story.
just. the sheer amount of history here. the depth of knowledge and time they have about each other. as long as i have been racing lewis has been there!!!!!!! they knew each other before f1 and during and after. there for all the world titles and wins and losses. i love them in the beginning. and hamilton has found a friend!!!!!! i love them during seb’s years at rbr when lewis is caught up in nico and mclaren and seb is thinking about mark and winning and still. they have moments together. i love them during sebcedes where seb is getting so much enjoyment out of stirring the pot and he’s being such a dick and lewis swivels between ignoring him and laughing. i love them after 2016. in the time where they didn’t know where to place each other and lewis is still reeling after nico and seb is new in ferrari and it’s so bitchy and so full of teeth and then baku !!!!!! what happened in baku !!!!!!!! smth wonderful. and the years after! how they pushed each other and never quite lost that bite but the respect was there bc of That. bc they knew the other would never let up. need you to keep fighting with me next year.
and all this morphs into smth that means lewis would go out of his way to organise a dinner party for seb with all the drivers just to show seb how much seb means to all of them and into smth that means in front of all the cameras and the ppl seb deliberately and carefully only hugged lewis and into smth that means that lewis would bring up seb over and over and over again during 2021 so he didn’t have to talk about max. smth smth a safe space born from violence smth smth.
the joy that seb gets from making lewis laugh to that look on lewis’s face when he sat down beside seb in malaysia as seb cried. he has made the sport less lonely. lewis choosing him and seb over everyone.
there is no lack of bravery in sebastian. i never have any doubts in a hard duel with lewis hamilton. it’s giving i love you. i say your name all the time when you’re not around. just to put more of you in the world. he is rare. we’re witnessing you make history.
it’s how their story would’ve been so fucking good even if it ended at baku. even if they never got over that. it probably would’ve never have grown into what it was but it still would’ve been something but it did! it did become more! it became more bc of baku. and they know that! seb has even said it! and this guy who values fairness and what is right wouldn’t take back baku even tho he was in the wrong bc it. it got him lewis. it got him this
#there are essays upon essays here but i told myself not to do a readmore on any of these asks so i’m stopping here#idk how long this is mb it should be under the cut but idc#sewis#honest ship opinions#clara tag#niamh.asks
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Really sorry if this is a dumb question but how did dantteri become a thing? Is there some masterpost out there I could read? Thank you and sorry if this is stupid!
long story short is that dantteri became a thing bc daniel ricciardo is incapable of being normal about valtteri bottas. like. physically unable. the rest is under the cut.
here’s a brief rundown of their history by the great ag tumblr user @andreagrimes themselves. i will wait for you to read it. i will also wait for you to read this masterpiece of modern poetry by lo tumblr user @hungerpunch. both are mandatory reading btw!!!!!!!
they basically came up together and their rivalry when they were younger v much dictated where they ended up in formula one (daniel to redbull and valtteri to merc) but they were never friends! this is not pierresteban or brocedes. these two are Something Else
they just raced against each other. and then they’re in f1 (daniel first. valtteri a year later) and daniel’s career starts off more successful than valtteri’s. starting with him getting a race win first and ending with him jumping v quickly into redbull and beating four time wdc sebastian vettel while valtteri is in a williams (and tbf does quite well but like. it’s still a williams) and then goes into merc with lewis. and. ok. it’s lewis hamilton yk. and so he never beat lewis but i will fight anyone who says that valtteri didn’t do a fucking amazing job while in merc. that just anyone could've been put in the position and seat that he was put in and not only handled it that well but also performed to that high of a level. you don’t need to beat your teammate to have done good! esp when said teammate is lewis fucking seven eight time world champion yeah i have over 100 race wins what about it hamilton who says HIMSELF that valtteri pushed him. that valtteri was faster than him in some races. pls be serious!!!!!!!
and as ag says. while this is all happening daniel makes comments about valtteri’s position in merc and being a second driver. there’s an interview with max when he’s in redbull where he’s asked what was the best race he ever did or smth and he names the fucking formula renault race from 2008 where val dominates all weekend and then daniel overtakes him in the last lap and daniel says: thanks, valtteri, nothing has changed. bc he’s fucking insane. (not the interview but a clip of an article talking about that championship). he then LEAVES redbull bc HE doesn’t want to be a second driver. which. fair. and he goes to renault. gets paid a lot of money. gets a podium. dips. goes to mclaren. gets another podium. (which he shares with WHO???? you guessed it. valtteri bottas.) becomes what is essentially a second driver. that shitshow happens. you know the story.
AND DURING ALL OF THIS. smth seems to like. switch on in daniel? idk if it’s bc he seems to be trying to recreate this rivalry he had with val when they were younger and it’s just not there in f1. bc of their circumstances but also bc val does Not Care lmao. or if it’s bc he’s like. omg he’s like. cool i want him to like me. or if it’s both or smth else entirely but he gets Weird. with a capital w.
a v important detail to know is that shoeys are daniel’s thing in formula one. like. they are daniel ricciardo. it’s like seb and the finger. daniel gets everyone who is on the podium with him to do it. literally everyone. he got lando norris who is one of the most squeamish ppl i’ve ever seen on telly to do it. and yet. valtteri and daniel have shared a podium several times and every single time valtteri has dodged it. here is daniel finding out that valtteri has never done it. it’s pure gold.
(also! i just found out from ag that apparently at the end of 2022 bc of daniel’s defending against seb in abu dhabi alfa romeo were able to win p6 in the constructors and so there were some alfa romeo mechanics doing shoeys in celebration. which. god. the layers there! valtteri refusing to do it even when faced with daniel right there but valtteri’s ppl being more than happy to despite daniel not being there….)
as ag reminded me the other day. april fools. 2022. valtteri said that he was going to be coming out with a wine brand. and then after was like. hahaha jokes! jokes! i would never be so cringe and basic 😌. but as we all know. daniel is the most basic of all basic white girlies (gn) and a few days later came out with his own wine and a shoey decanter. the tackiness levels were high and he was soooo delighted with himself.
at one point daniel did ask valtteri to try his wine which it’s like. just fucking ask him out this is getting tiring. and valtteri was like. it’s ok? and daniel apparently nearly swoons at the mere thought of val tasting it. let alone liking it.
jump scene. cue cut. back to 2021 and daniel guessing valtteri for his secret santa bc he was given a bottle of red wine and “i know he likes his red”. spoiler alert: it was not valtteri. and THEN. like a year later i think. valtteri guesses daniel bc and i quote. “someone with taste of, like, funky things, like…it could be daniel?” FUNKY THINGS . is this a compliment. is it an insult. either way i’m fairly sure daniel was buzzin after he heard.
omg and the bottass. so when dts came out in 2021 and valtteri showed his bare ass and balls on tv but netflix only let us see one of them. cheap cunts. daniel had A Moment on twitter. see below:
and then! when valtteri does that whole poster of his ass out in a river for charity thing in 2022? i think? daniel has another Moment but it’s when he’s asked what is smth unusual he wants to do and HE TALKS ABOUT VALTTERI AND HIS ASS PIC ? 🤨 ??? and to add insult to injury. valtteri never once acknowledges this in public but what he DOES do is make a show out of giving a poster to lewis while staring at him like he shits gold after lewis was asked about the poster in an interview and didn’t even know what they were talking about!!!!!! it is literally painful to watch for so many reasons.
you just know daniel was seething. lewis is a fake fan while daniel is a real one!!!!! daniel nearly half recreated the same photo but he’s not in the river and he’s fully clothed. coward. AND he gushed about the pic unprompted!!!! but lewis! who didn’t even KNOW it existed bc he doesn’t have valtteri’s notifs on 🙄 gets a signed copy???? AND A PERSONAL VISIT???? where he has the nerve to say not that he already doesn’t have stuff to remember vb by. all while valtteri is bright pink in the face. i tip my hat off to daniel for not committing vehicle manslaughter right there and then.
and for all that daniel has talked shit about valtteri in the past and more specifically valtteri in mercedes. he had nothing but praise for him going to alfa romeo??? while ppl were like. it’s a step down! what a waste. daniel is like. valtteri isn’t stupid. he knows what he wants and needs and he’s going for it. which!!!!!!! is what daniel tried to do!!!!!!! but it worked out sm better for valtteri than it did for him. which. actually is a running theme throughout their entire careers 😵💫😵💫😵💫 i need three to five business days to recover every time i think about it
and NOW. now. he doesn’t know what to do with that fact that valtteri seems to have adopted australia which has adopted him right back and has an australian gf and has a mullet and mustache and wears flip flops and tanks and is sooo australian but still doesn’t seem impressed by daniel who IS australian ????? his poor brain. bless.
he used to get sooo giggly last year whenever he’d put his camera in val’s face and take a snap. it was hard to watch. literally just go onto daniel's jpg instagram account. there's a few v v close up pictures of valtteri's face. daniel actually captions one with fanboying before - in how eye imagined it went - he chickens out and adds a few more pictures of other drivers to the post after the cover picture of val. disgraceful.
like.
wtf. why are you as a man being changed by another man's hairstyle.
i also need it to be known that for years daniel didn't follow valtteri on social media. despite talking about him A LOT (including the bottass tweets from earlier) until valtteri rocked up with a mullet and a 'what's cracking, australia' vibe and then he caved and followed him on insta. valtteri didn't follow him back.
in summary: daniel got a seat both in f1 and later in a top team and a race win before valtteri. tho valtteri ended up with more wins in the end. daniel joined said top team thinking he was going to be top dog and was pushed into second. valtteri always knew he was second driver before all else. daniel jumped from team to team to escape this before ending up in mclaren's shitbox and regulated to second. once again behind a younger driver. that went tits up so badly that he was left without a seat for the 2022 and had to go back to the top team that he left bc he didn't want to be second driver and signed to be their reserve. valtteri left mercedes with ten wins and the longest q3 consecutive streak ever with 103 weekends to join a team that welcomed him with open arms and gave him a multi year contract. they mirror each other as much as they contrast. what if i cried for a hundred years
#this is pure brainrot. i wrote 87% from my brain alone and the rest was ag going. add this. and this. oh and this#everyone say thank u ag#idk if there’s a masterpost but here is everything that is in my head!#if there is one someone pls tell me and i’ll link it. it’s guaranteed to be better than this#this is not a stupid question dw!!!!!#dantteri#anon tag#niamh.asks
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